


Introductions

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Kid Sherlock, Sherlock and Q are cousins, Young Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond's strange introduction to Olivia Mansfield and the invitation to join MI6. </p><p>Or cousins Quintin Mansfield and Sherlock Holmes surprise M and her new recruit with a severed hand. </p><p>Just a sweet short story of an unique family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introductions

Introductions

1992

Olivia Mansfield was getting angry. Her sister Violet was taking up too much of her time arguing about the boy’s future.

“I don’t want him working for you Oli.” Violet whined from the settee. “Myc could have any future he wants. Why should he work for you?”

Olivia rolled her eyes as she twisted to stare her sister in the face. Bright intense blue eyes meeting calm warm gray ones.

“Violet, he would not be working for me. I have found him a minor position in the British government that would suit his ambitions perfectly.” Olivia picked up her tea cup and took a sip. The Earl Grey had cooled and tasted bitter. Frowning she set the cup back in the saucer and returned it to the table with the remains of their afternoon tea. “And please reframe from calling Mycroft and myself by your ridiculous pet names.”

Violet pouted.

“Mycroft will be graduating this spring. Ahead of schedule, as I predicted. It is a perfect opportunity for him.” Olivia said standing and moving to the window.

“But he is only a boy. Why can’t he discover who he wants to be instead of force to be what you want him to be?”

“He is twenty-two, Violet. Mycroft has spoken to me. This is what he wants to be.” Olivia said without turning around to speak to her younger sister.

Olivia looked out across the lawn at the two young boys running with an Irish Setter. Both boys were fair skinned and dark haired. Long thin legs and angular features. They looked more like brothers than cousins. The red Irish Setter barking and running between the two young children as they evaded Quintin’s nanny and headed into the woods south of the estate.

“It’s been settled Violet. It is what Mycroft wants.” Olivia said. She was tired of the conversation and wanted her sister to leave. Olivia had a guest coming and she didn’t want family around when the young man arrived.

“It is not settled Oli! He is my son.” Violet Holmes sat up straight. As sweet and calm disposition as she had, Violet was just as strong willed and intelligent as her sister. “Have Quintin join you in your spies and intrigue. None of my sons will be involved in anything dangerous!”

“And what of Sheriford?” Olivia asked raising an eyebrow.

Violet’s expression darkened and Olivia realize she had overstepped her bounds. Violet’s lips thinned as her jaw set. Olivia Mansfield could walk the hallowed halls of Parliament and Whitehall without fear and doubt, but the mention of Sheriford’s situation to his mother would make the formidable woman shrink back.

“How dare you Olivia. Sheriford is the very reason I will not allow you the opportunity of getting near Mycroft.” Violet hissed at her sister. “I will not idly sit by again as one of my sons is attacked by a mad man. No never again.”

“Violet, I miss-spoke.” Olivia said in a softer tone.

“I would say you did.”

The knock on the door jarred the two women who had forgotten the outside world while they fought over the young Mycroft. The footman entered followed by an attractive naval officer.

“Ma'am, pardon me, but Lieutenant Commander Bond informed me his time was limited.”

Olivia waved her hand at the servant and said. “Yes, yes. Send him in. I’m sorry I didn’t think my tea with my sister would take so long.”

The young officer stepped around the footman and held his hand out to Olivia Mansfield.

“Ma'am” The way he pronounced the word it sounded like 'mum'. He towered over the petite Mansfield. His military cut hair was pale blonde and his skin was tan. Broad shoulders of a swimmer, and quick intelligent eyes.

“Lieutenant Commander James Bond, I would like to introduce you to my sister, Violet Holmes. Violet, James Bond of the SBS.”

He bent down to shake the woman’s hand.

“Violet would you please find the boys. I believe Rosaline has lost them again. Try the woods to the south.”

Violet Holmes stood and nodded her head to the young sailor and glared one final time at her sister. “This discussion is not over Olivia.”

“Violet, please.”

As the younger woman left, Olivia Mansfield moved to walk in a circle around the tall man, letting her eyes move up and down his form.

“You have come to my attention as someone who might be valuable to Her Majesty’s government, Lieutenant Commander.”

He nodded.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Olivia Mansfield, director of MI6.” She looked surprised. That information was not easily obtainable. Several secured top secret documents would have to be opened to find that information. “When I received orders to report to you, I did some investigating. I wanted to be sure of your intentions.”

“My intentions? Oh, yes. You do have quite the reputation in that area don’t you? Well, just another talent we can use to further your advancement in MI6.”

Hard as he tried not to, a small smirk raised the corner of his mouth. Olivia Mansfield did not find it funny at all.

“I would like to offer you a position in MI6. A field agent. Low priority. Low danger.”

“When you say low danger you mean no killing?” He asked as his hands slipped behind his back and he naturally went to parade rest to stand.

“Yes. Although I know you are personally responsible for four kills in the SBS.” He didn’t acknowledge her. That information was as prohibited as her position in the government. “We don’t need you as an assassin. We have Double ‘O’s for that. No I just want you as an agent in training.”

He nodded. “Mum, I will receive my Commander’s commendation next month. With that I will have another four year in the service. I appreciate the offer but . . .”

The high pitch scream came from the foyer. Bond immediately turned and rushed towards the sound, consciously keeping the smaller woman behind him, protective instincts kicking in. The doors slammed opened and a small boy ran in and right into Bond’s waist. The child looked up with big hazel eyes under wild raven curls.

“Quintin, what have you and Sherlock done now?!” Olivia Mansfield shouted at her son.

The boy tore his eyes way from Bond’s and looked at his mother.

“I didn’t do it!” Rushed out of his mouth.

A second scream came from out in the hall way as a second boy, much older, walked into the drawing room. Holding out in front of himself, as if it were a holy relic, a severed hand. A bright wide smile covered his face as his silvery blue eyes danced over the grotesque object.

“Sherlock!” Olivia shouted.

“It’s mine. I found it. I get to keep it.” The boy announced as he looked down at the bloody hand. Sherlock’s mother, Violet came in behind the boy.

“Sherlock, not again!” Violet moaned.

Olivia grabbed a napkin from the tea service and placed it over the hand, pulling it from Sherlock’s inquisitive grasp. Violet grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and pulled him from the room.

“Kitchen! Hands! Wash now!” She shouted as she pushed the boy down the hall.

Olivia Mansfield briefly looked down at the object in her hand then turned to Bond.

“Commander, would you please watch my son, while I deal with this. I’m afraid the screaming was the former nanny, Rosaline. This will be the third one this year.”

Bond nodded and watched the small woman march off down the hall carrying the severed hand as if it were a presentation piece.

“My nannies don’t last long around here.” Bond heard the small voice behind him. He turned to see the young boy looking up at him. “It’s not my fault this time. Red Beard and Sherlock found the hand.”

James thought maybe the boy would start crying at seeing something so horrendous, but he just stood staring up at the officer.

“Most of mummy’s soldiers are dressed in suits. You’re not.”

“I’m not one of you mummy’s soldiers, I’m a sailor. Did you touch the hand?” Thinking he might have to rush the boy to the kitchen to be scrubbed clean too.

“No Sherlock wouldn’t let me. He said it was evidence in a crime.”

“Oh did he?” Bond sat down on one of the elegant gold-gilt chairs. He waved Quinten over closer.

“Yes, he’s going to be a detective when he grows up.” Quinten not only moved closer but he climbed up into the man’s lap. “I’m going to be an inventor when I grow up.”

“Very good for you Quinten.” Surprised by the child’s openness.

“Oh, please don’t call me that. I hate my name.” the young boy explained.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“I don’t know, I just hate Quintin. It sounds like a Quince and I hate Quince jam.” Bond laughed and wrapped a protective arm around the boy’s waist.

“How about I call you Q and you call me James?” The boy smiled up at the sailor. It was a beautiful smile. Innocent and open. A small dimple on one cheek began to develop. Q’s eyes were big and warm, dusky green with hints of gold and brown. He was a beautiful child. James felt very protective of the little whelp.

“I like that. Please call me Q. But don’t tell Mummy. She’ll get ever so cross with us.”

“I promise. Do you and cousin play together often?”

“No, only when his mummy brings him here. I rarely get to see them. My mummy doesn’t live here. She lives in the city and my papa is dead.” Q leaned into the man’s chest.

“You live alone here with your nanny?” James pulled the boy more securely onto his lap.

“Yes, just like I was an orphan.” Quintin lowered his head on to James’ shoulder. The boy’s dark curls tickled the jaw line of the man.

“An orphan?”

“Yes, with Papa gone and Mummy living so far away, I feel just like an orphan in one of my story books.”

“You know Q, I’m a real orphan.” James said softly. Quintin twisted to look up into James’ eyes. The man could see the sadness in the lonely boy’s face.

“We’re just alike aren’t we?”

“Well, I much older. I’m twenty two.”

“I’m six.” Quintin said. “Does it make you sad to be alone? To be an orphan?”

“Sometimes, but then I just make friends.”

“I don’t ever get to make friends.”

“I’m your friend Q. We’ll be very good friends.” The boy smiled.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Quinten twisted back and leaned down onto James’ shoulder. “Will you tell me a story about pirates you’ve fought at sea?”

“I’ve never fought pirates at sea.” James smiled at the questions.

“But you’re a sailor. All British sailors fight pirates.”

“According to who?”

“Whom.” Quintin corrected the man. “According to Sherlock. He knows everything about pirates. He’s very well read.” James’ laugh was no more than a huff of air. His Q was a precocious little boy.

“I will tell you a story but it will not be about pirates. It’s about jumping out of a plane in the dark and swimming into hostile territory.” James said softly. “Would you like to hear that?”

“Yes, please.” So James began the story about how he and his friend Alec went in to rescue other sailors who were being held prisoner behind enemy lines. Within a few minutes, he felt Quintin’s body relax and slump into his. He leaned back into the chair and let the sleeping boy recline across his body. Breathing softly as his hair brushed against James’ face. The man enjoying the scent of youth from the boy.

The door opened and Olivia Mansfield came in. She saw her six year old son sleeping comfortable in the arms of the trained naval killer. She paused as she listened to the story of James and Alec using underwater grenades to blow up the enemy’s boat before she stopped him.

“I believed that specific mission was classified.” She said softly.

“Well it seemed classified information was routine conversation in this house.” James whispered back.

“If you don’t mind Lieutenant Commander. My son’s bedroom is upstairs.”

The man gently picked the sleeping child up and stood. He followed the small woman up the stairs and into a room full of books and plane models. James gently laid the sleeping child down on the bed and bent over to quickly kiss his pale forehead. Olivia didn’t say a thing. She just pulled the duvet over the sleeping boy. Stepping out into the hall way, Olivia turned to James.

“The hand?”

“Actually nothing to do with MI6 or me. Just a routine murder, fortunately.”

“Fortunately.” He said sarcastically as he narrowed his eyes at the woman who spoke of a dismembered body found by her child as normal everyday occurrence. What a strange life the boy must live.

“Are you sure you wish to return to the Navy and not come and join us at MI6?”

“Are there babysitting requirements working for you?”

She smiled. “No.”

“Then I shall return for my commission and at least four year, Mum.”

Olivia nodded and James departed knowing that in four years, MI6 would be asking again.

 

2012

He sat in the British Room at the National Gallery. In front of him was the Turner. If this was someone idea of a joke, he was going to killing someone sooner than M realized. The painting was of an old ship, tired and broken, used up and now being discarded. Yes, someone was going to die because of this joke.

He felt the man sit beside him. A brief glance in his peripheral vision and he saw a young man. Uni student, rumbled coat, wild hair, black framed glasses. Not a threat.

“Always makes me a little melancholy.” Bond thought he may not wait till he got back to MI6 to kill someone. It might happen here.

“What do you see?”

“A bloody big ship.” He moved to stand.

“007.”

James groaned and sat back down. He turned to look at the young man face on. There it was. The same pale face with the big hazel eyes he saw twenty years ago. The same open smile with the barely visible dimple. The same intriguing birthmark just above his left jaw. Q. His Q.

Bond smiled back and as if twenty years had not passed, he saw the same young boy he did that day in M’s drawing room. But the boy was now a man. And Bond was a Double ‘O’.

“I’m your new quartermaster.”

“You must be joking?”

One of the few precious item’s Bond had kept over the years were the letters he and Quintin Mansfield shared. He never saw the boy again, but he kept his promise to be friends and wrote to him over the years. Not often. Maybe only four or five times a year. Q wrote more often. They had shared their friendship on paper. Bond had always wondered if M knew. But there was never any indication she did. It was their secret. And he enjoyed it that way. The two men turned as smiled at each other. Friends, old friends. Working together.

As James Bond left National Gallery carrying the gun and radio Q had given him, he promised to ask Q the one question he never did. Why had Violet Holmes said, ‘Not again,’ when she saw Sherlock carrying the hand all those years ago?


End file.
